One more barrier to put behind him.
Wearily, he wrenched the screw-locks open; pried up the spring catch; lifted the hatch-lid; peered down into the space beneath it.
An unpleasant, faintly musty odor. A wall-ladder leading down into pale grey emptiness.
Yat-stick still in hand, Dane lowered himself gingerly through the hatchway and let the heavy scarlet lid fall to above him, wondering as he did so why it was painted so bright a red.
The spring catch clicked into place. No going back now.
Down the ladder, a rung at a time. Ten feet. Fifteen. Twenty.
Solid decking again. Solid ... yet strangely slippery. And the unpleasant musty smell was stronger now, too.
Something brushed Dane's hand. Something gelatinous and clammy.
Instinctively, he jerked back.
His eyes were adjusting to the pale grey light now. He could see better.